Page 12 of Hunter

“There is another option. You allow fate to decide.” He spun the revolver in his hand, then aimed it at my forehead. “Six chambers. One bullet. Three chances. If you survive, we’ll allow more time. If you don’t…well, you won’t know either way.”

I turned to Isabella, searching for guidance. Terror had frozen her in place.

I waited for my father to object. He didn’t.

There was no doubt he would kill me if it benefitted his plan. My father always loved power more than anything or anyone in his life. Forever a sociopath, he would take out anyone who stood in his way. In this case, the goal was creating an allegiance with Spain and rising to the top of the order in our world, with me or without me.

“Bella,” I said through gritted teeth. She blinked up at me and nodded.

“I can do this,” she whispered. I exhaled sharply.

“Leave,” I ordered our fathers. “And take your men with you.”

The bastards laughed.

“If you think we’re going anywhere until we know this is done, you’re more stupid than you look,” Isabella’s father sneered. “Now, clean yourself up and complete the contract. One misstep and your brains will be splattered across the walls, Devane. Finish it.” The gun didn’t lower until I obeyed.

After it was over, Isabella twisted the sheets around her as the men left. Nothing had been romantic or beautiful about our first time. She said yes, and we did the deed as if we were strangers. No kisses. No whispered words. Just the silent promise that I would hate myself for the rest of my life.

Her face twisted as I took her. She made no sound, but the tension in her muscles told me she was in pain.

The old bastards had jeered as I moved within her, swapping crude jokes. Each man reminisced about their wedding nights and how much better they had been with compliant wives, congratulating each other on what great men they were.

Then to ensure there were no lies, they ripped back the sheets.

Blood.

Evidence that the contract was sealed.

I had never despised my father more.

When I reached for Isabella to comfort her, she shrugged me off, curling in on herself, and staring blankly at the wall.

I knew then. Our marriage was over before it had begun.

Her fire was gone, and I was the one that extinguished it. Our wedding day had been the best of my life, but the night had destroyed it all.

That night has haunted me for years. Two decades on, any attempt to reconcile was rejected with hatred. I understood her hurt and humiliation, but her abhorrence toward me stung just as much. The choices given were impossible: deflower my wife or die. Somedays, I wonder if I should have accepted the bullet; the pain would have been far less. But then, who would she have married and where would she be now? I may not have her physically, but for the past twenty years she’s still been very much mine.

After throwing myself into a dark mood with the memories, I grab the divorce contract Isabella requested I sign and push open the door. As I reach the front gates, I’m met by the brute of a guard she has, Ronan, who appears to be leaving for the evening.

“Good evening, Mr. Devane,” he says with a nod. “Ms. Espinosa is settled for the night. Perhaps you should return another day.”

“I’m here to see my wife, Mrs. Devane,” I answer bluntly. He opens his mouth to protest, and I respond by twirling my knife between my fingers. “We both know what I can do with this, Ronan. Take me to see my wife before you can’t produce any more children.”

There is a stand-off for a beat, but he relents easier than expected, turning and heading back toward the house. Ronan waves away the approaching security guard and walks up the stairs to my wife’s home as if he owns it. He takes the key from his pocket and opens the front door naturally. I don’t like it.

“Ronan,” Isabella calls, obviously hearing the lock. “Ronan, is that you?”

She appears in the hallway but stops dead when she sees me. Her face falls, then twists in anger at my intrusion. She looks unraveled in her fluffy pajamas, an eye mask propped on top of her head holding back black curls.

“How dare you?” she snarls. “Coming to my home uninvited. Leave, Hunter. There is nothing to discuss.” Her focus moves to the envelope in my hand. “If that is the signed papers, you should drop them at my lawyer.”

“I have a proposition,” I say evasively. As I step into the house, Ronan’s arm shoots forward to block my path. “Down boy, I won’t bite her. Isabella, tell your lapdog to sit.”

“Don’t be so fucking rude,” she snaps, stalking over and smacking my shoulder. “Ronan, you can go home. He’s an asshole, but he won’t hurt me.”

“If you’re sure, Miss?” he questions.

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